


Mocha

by kethni



Category: Veep
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Gen, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 18:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent really shouldn't go to the same coffee shop every Friday evening</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mocha

**Author's Note:**

> Probably makes more sense if you've seen the deleted scenes for 'Data'.

 

Kent paid for his coffee and sat down on a timeworn leather armchair at the back of the coffee shop. This was his favoured spot, opposite the Greek style tile mosaic of a boat rising from a tumultuous sea. There were nautical themed restaurants in D.C. but they were either too modern or too vulgar for his taste. The gleaming plastic seemed unpleasantly redolent of the cheaper sort of theme park. It was oddly patronising. This place had a slightly shabby, gently dilapidated feel to it. The gleam had worn off the brass mariner lights and the driftwood tables were pleasingly irregular. There was something reassuring about it. Solidity in a world of shifting sand. He had brought Sue here a couple of times, during their brief and rather tumultuous courtship, although with the campaign time to themselves had been rare.

He was looking with pleasurable anticipation towards the end of the campaign. Kent was not a man given to sentimentality: there were distinct pros and cons to both winning and indeed losing the nomination. Kent was a survivor. Irrespective of how successful or unsuccessful the campaign ultimately proved, he had invested in ensuring that the right people knew his worth. If POTUS’s ship sank then he would be safely in a lifeboat. Frankly there were moments, recently in particular, where the idea of losing was curiously comforting. He used to be hungry enough; ambitious enough, that he’d pay any price. Well, almost any. The unfortunate confluence of events in Portland had almost conspired to scupper his career before it fully launched. While he didn’t precisely regret his actions, even decades later, the memory of the girl lying there still twisted in his stomach.

Kent shook his head as if he could dislodge the unwelcome and invasive memory. What thread had been tugged to unravel that particular image? Aggressive and narcissistic as Selina was hardly redolent of Bob Karnack.

No, it was the girl he was remembering, not her attacker. She was bright, strong-minded, and self-possessed. He’d known her name once. He probably knew it now if he allowed himself to excavate the memory. Some things are not precisely forgotten, but permitted to fall down the back of the mental sofa where they disappeared beneath layers of dust.  

‘Mr Davison.’

Kent looked up and blinked. He knew that he knew the young woman in front of him, but she was in the wrong place, the wrong context, and looking… different. She was wearing a rather pretty flowery dress and had her long hair loose over her shoulders. She was clutching a small shoulder bag in front of her like a shield. Also, and it was by no means his area, she appeared to be wearing a touch of makeup.

 It took him a half a second to place her, and that was half a second too long.

‘Leigh.’

She nodded. There was a long pause. Kent considered making his excuses and leaving.

‘I didn’t follow you, Sir,’ she said, all in one breath.

‘Uh, good to know.’

‘There were receipts in your office trash,’ she said. ‘From here.’

Kent blinked. ‘You went through my trash.’

‘I’m not a stalker.’ Leigh frowned slightly. ‘I know that sounds exactly like I’m a stalker. But I’m not a stalker. Jonah knocked over your trash. I helped pick it up.’

‘And found the receipts.’

‘Yes.’ She pursed her lips for a moment. ‘You should probably not come to the same café at the same time every Friday evening. It might be dangerous, Mr Davison. You’re an important man.’

Kent ran his thumb over the lip of his cup. ‘Given the vagaries of the necessities of my career you have successfully identified what is likely the only routine in my life beyond the time and route I go to work.’

‘It was easy. That’s not good.’ She shifted her feet. ‘I’d like to sit down. May I sit down?’

Kent gestured at the chair. He was _slightly_ uneasy but in a somewhat distant way, as if being uneasy was something that he’d told he should feel. He didn’t enjoy confrontation, if that’s what this was, but it didn’t distress him. Nonetheless, he shied away from the thought of deliberately embarrassing or aggravating her. He had no reason to feel remorse but he had no desire to cause further distress.

Leigh sat, carefully straightening her dress, and set her bag on her lap. She was watching him intently. Kent sought for a “safe” subject. Young women had been alien when he was a young man. He couldn’t claim to understand them any better now.

Kent pointed a finger at the counter. ‘Coffee?’

‘Hot chocolate,’ she said. ‘Please.’ She opened her bag and reached for her coin purse. ‘I like chocolate.’

‘My treat,’ Kent said, striding over to the counter. He joined the queue and looked up at the board. There were three varieties of hot chocolate listed along with optional extras. He glanced over at Leigh. Then ordered the large Aztec hot chocolate with whipped cream, chocolate dust, and honey and vanilla marshmallows. Kent had distant but distinct memories of his sisters resorting to ice cream or chocolate when they crossed in love or otherwise dispirited by the rigors of teenage life. He had always preferred pizza and beer himself. Of course, that was a lifetime ago. It was quite likely one and a half Leigh’s lifetime.

Leigh looked up as he carried the glass over to the table. Her eyes widened, as she took in the confectionary excess.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It was kind of you to pay, Sir. Since I am now unemployed I should be very careful with my money.’

‘I argued against your dismissal, alas circumstances and necessity weighed too heavily in the balance,’ Kent said.

Leigh nodded and used the long spoon to scoop up a mixture of cream and hot chocolate. ‘Mr Egan told me.’

That was unexpected. Dan’s eagerness to be the one to fire the gun had been a contributory factor in Kent’s desire to accompany Ben in removing him from his position.

‘Are you aware that Mr Egan accepted responsibility for the data leak and offered his resignation?’

Leigh tilted her head. ‘I know that he was fired. The way he fired me.’

‘That is true. Although his name was announced to the press and yours was not.’

‘Because I’m not important.’

Kent admitted it with a shrug.

‘Should I pretend to be upset?’ Leigh asked. ‘I didn’t like him. He thought firing me was funny,’ she said. ‘I think he thought it was funny. He was smiling a lot. He finds himself very amusing.’

Kent frowned and sipped his coffee. ‘I was unaware of that.’

‘Did you argue against _his_ dismissal?’

Kent shook his head. ‘There are a multitude of mechanics for ascertaining the value of a co-worker and few of them would rank you and Dan Egan on a level.’ He raised his hand, pressing his index finger and thumb together. ‘Your dismissal was a loss. His was inevitable.’

Leigh wrapped her hands around the glass. ‘Mr Ryan was fired. He was hired again.’

‘As was Mr Egan,’ Kent said. ‘He was fired last year by POTUS once and very nearly again by myself. I have often wondered if I erred in giving him six hours to right his vessel.’

Leigh sipped her drink. ‘You gave him six hours.’

‘He asked for twenty-four.’

‘Like in a movie.’

‘Six proved enough. On this occasion, there was no possibility of reprieve from Mr Cafferty or myself.’

Leigh’s lips quirked. ‘You fired him.’

‘It’s not something I enjoy but there are times when it’s necessary. Politics can be both brutal and forgiving.’ He finished his coffee and pushed his cup aside. ‘In six months or a year it would be entirely possible for you to return to the White House, washed clean by time and the realities of political expediency.’

Leigh nodded and the rigid set of her back relaxed a fraction. ‘I’d like that, Sir.’

Kent rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingertips together. ‘As would I.’

Leigh watched him as she sipped her drink. ‘I’ve never been fired before. I’ve had jobs before. I’ve worked since I was old enough. Weekends mostly. Some evenings. I’ve never been fired before.’

‘I also worked through school,’ Kent said. ‘I wish I could claim it was a philosophical choice to build character but it was primarily practical.’

Leigh nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed that. I worked because we needed the money. I’m not ashamed of that.’

‘Nor should you be.’ He spread out his hands. ‘It might be helpful for you to consider being released from your position in this case as less analogous to the plague and more in line with… a case of childhood chicken pox. It’s unpleasant, certainly, and hardly desirable. However, it is has the benefit of normalising the experience to allow you to better cope with more serious work related issues in the future.’

Leigh’s eyebrows drew together for a moment. ‘More serious than being terminated.’

‘If one works in the White House, certainly.’

She considered it for a moment. ‘The potential legal consequences were explained to me,’ she said. ‘In detail. There were flowcharts.’

‘You take my point,’ Kent said.

Leigh sucked her spoon. There was a little blob of whipped cream on the end of her nose. Her eyes were fixed on his. ‘I’d like to ask if you’ve ever been fired.’

He tore his gaze from the cream on her nose. ‘You may ask.’

‘Have you ever been fired?’

‘Certainly, although with far more cause than you.’ Kent lent forward slightly. ‘I lost my temper. A rare occurrence for me as you might imagine.’

‘You were fired because you lost your temper?’ she said. ‘Or you lost your temper because you were fired?’

He lowered his voice a fraction. ‘Actually, I lost my temper and punched my employer. I am neither proud nor ashamed of it.’  

Leigh’s eyes widened. ‘Oh.’

‘I hope that you don’t that doesn’t adversely affect your respect for me.’

‘No, Sir.’ She licked her lips. ‘Did he deserve it?’

Kent pretended to think about it. It wasn’t the sort of question it seemed prudent to answer quickly. ‘I believe so, as much as I did then.’ He held up his hand. ‘I can’t really go into detail.’

‘I understand.’

‘It took me almost four years to return to politics.’ He shrugged. ‘At the time I thought that the stain would always seep through, like… Lady Macbeth and her spots of blood. Yet thirty years on and here I am the only person who remembers.’

Leigh sighed quietly. ‘I had to explain to my parents why I was fired. I’m not sure that they believe I’m innocent. It’s embarrassing.’

‘I… I don’t know what to say to that.’

Leigh nodded and crossed her legs. ‘Neither do I. It’s not your problem, Sir.’

‘Do you have a position to which you can fall back on during this unfortunate transitional period?’ Kent asked.

‘I have interviews,’ Leigh said. ‘Mostly in stores. I worked in a lot of stores when I was at school. And a couple of charities. I’m not Mr Egan. I don’t have connections.’

‘You have me.’ Kent frowned slightly. ‘So to speak.’

The corner of her mouth tugged into a tiny smile but it passed quickly. ‘I don’t like asking for help. It feels weak. I’m not weak, Sir. I’m a strong person.’

‘Indeed you are.’ Kent adjusted his jacket. ‘Seeking to leverage connections into introductions makes you a political operator. It certainly doesn’t imply weakness.’ He reached into his pocket for his cell. ‘I’m going to give you a number for a friend of mine. She’s seeking an assistant and I believe that you would do admirably.’

Leigh clutched the handle of her bag. ‘What does she do?’

‘She’s a professor of advanced mathematics, although the bulk of her day is taken up with some very interesting experimental statistical modelling.’ He glanced at Leigh. ‘She’s quite brilliant. One of the finest minds currently in the field.’ He jotted the number on a piece of paper. ‘Feel free to list me as a reference.’ He held it out. ‘I have no doubt that you would do excellent work for her.’

As Leigh took the paper from him, their fingers touched and her cheeks glowed a pale pink.

‘Thank you, Sir,’ she muttered, fixing her eyes down as she carefully put the note in her purse.

‘It’s the least I can do.’ Kent picked up a napkin

As she looked up, he found himself reaching out with the napkin to rub the cream from her nose.

Leigh blinked at him.

‘Uh. Cream,’ he said, folding the napkin and putting it aside. ‘On your face.’

Leigh wound a lock of hair around her finger. ‘Oh.’

Kent fumbled his cell back into his pocket. ‘Um.’

‘Yes?’

‘Apologies.’ His hands were moving, trying to frame his thoughts.

‘You don’t need to apologise for that. I don’t want to walk around covered with creamy residue.’ Leigh frowned slightly. ‘That sounded like an innuendo. It wasn’t an innuendo.’

Kent shook his head. ‘Touching you was inappropriate.’

‘Oh,’ she said softly. Her hands were on the table. They were small and neat. He noticed that her nails had been painted shell pink. ‘We don’t work together anymore.’

‘But, we did,’ he said. He felt curiously close to panic, as if he was balancing precariously over a deep, still ocean. ‘Hopefully we will again.’

Leigh nodded. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Excellent.’

‘But I didn’t mind.’ Her eyes were very bright. ‘I didn’t mind that you did that.’

‘Nonetheless, it was inappropriate. I have no business touching you or entering your personal space.’ Kent licked his lips. ‘I have no desire to… take advantage of your relative youth and innocence. You were a junior staffer. I’m the president’s senior strategist. That you were not in my immediate reporting stream is irrelevant.’

Leigh looked down at her hands for several seconds. Then, with grave solemnity, she scooped up the last of the whipped cream with her spoon and anointed her nose with it. She looked at Kent directly and waited.

After a few seconds, he reached out with his bare hand to brush the cream from her nose. As his fingertips brushed her cheek, she blushed deeply.

Kent cleared his throat and looked away. ‘Um. When you call Melissa about the assistant position, it might be best not to mention that you found me here after going through my trash.’

‘No.’ Leigh was suddenly on her feet. She seemed slightly surprised by it, as if she’d moved without knowing why or what to do next. ‘I should go. Thank you for talking with me.’

Kent stood up. ‘Do call her.’

‘I will.’ She was looking at his mouth. ‘I should go.’

‘You said.’

‘Okay.’ She turned away.

‘Wait.’ Kent took out a business card and handed it out to her.

Leigh held it as if it was about to shatter. ‘Your card?’

‘For a reference.’

‘Oh,’ she said.

Kent shrugged. ‘For whenever you require it.’

She nodded. ‘I see. Thank you, Sir.’

He rubbed his hands together. ‘Don’t forget, in six to twelve months, dependent of course on the result of the campaign, we can see about getting you back to the White House.’

Leigh looked at the card. ‘In six to twelve months I should call you?’

‘Exactly so.’

‘Okay.’ She put the card carefully in her purse. She paused but then shook her head. ‘Okay. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye.’ Kent gave an awkward wave as she walked away.


End file.
